


I can think of something better

by blackkat



Series: Trashy & Tropey [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Flirting, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Soon, padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and Obi-Wan doesn’t appreciate the amusement in his voice at all, but his disgruntled look doesn’t win him anything except a raised brow and the calmly bemused glance that always makes Master Windu eye Qui-Gon’s hair like he’s about to pull on it.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos
Series: Trashy & Tropey [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999795
Comments: 7
Kudos: 383





	I can think of something better

**Author's Note:**

> For the trope "Childhood Friend Romance".

“Soon, padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and Obi-Wan doesn’t appreciate the amusement in his voice at all, but his disgruntled look doesn’t win him anything except a raised brow and the calmly bemused glance that always makes Master Windu eye Qui-Gon’s hair like he’s about to pull on it.

“They're _late_ ,” Obi-Wan says, and refuses to feel bad about the annoyance he can feel. The other Master and padawan pair tapped to accompany them were supposed to be here almost an hour ago, and the fact that they’re _this_ late means the whole mission is going to be a test of Obi-Wan’s patience.

Qui-Gon, of course, just hums lightly, folding his hands in his sleeves. “You and Tholme's padawan were childhood friends, I believe,” he says mildly.

“I think that gives me leave to be even _more_ annoyed with him,” Obi-Wan mutters, but when Qui-Gon eyes him, he sighs a little. “Yes, Master. I haven’t seen him in almost ten years, though.”

Tholme has spent most of his life as a Sentinel, after all, and any time he spends at the Temple is usually brief and hectic. Obi-Wan thinks of his last glimpse of Quinlan, standing in the hall with his pack in his hands and watching Obi-Wan with tired, sad eyes, and feels his own hands curl into fists. He had wanted to keep Quinlan close, had wanted to grab him by the hand and drag him away, but—

Obi-Wan hadn’t even gained a Master at that point. It was a child’s impulse, directed at one of the first friends he’d ever made, and selfish.

Obi-Wan knows better by now. Selfishness doesn’t suit a Jedi.

Before Qui-Gon can answer, there's the hum of a speeder approaching at high speeds, and Obi-Wan jerks around, watching a silver shape cut through the long grass of the meadow. There are two riders, and it’s not slowing—if anything, it’s picking up speed as it races towards them. Qui-Gon takes a deliberate step back, freeing his hands, and Obi-Wan tenses, reaching for his lightsaber—

The speeder cuts past them in a blur, almost too quick to follow with the naked eye, and as it does, the passenger leaps. It’s a high, twisting, showy move, graceful and smooth, and Obi-Wan only needs a half-second’s look to spot a Jedi. The shape flips, drops, and the passenger lands in a crouch, rolls to spend momentum, and almost crashes headlong into Obi-Wan as he rises.

 _Oh_ , Obi-Wan manages to think, a fraction of an instant before wide dark eyes and dark skin and twisted locs fill his vision. Quinlan—it _has_ to be Quinlan—comes to a sharp stop, hair swaying around his face. His clan tattoos glow in the sunlight, and Obi-Wan looks at him and can't _breathe_.

Quinlan isn't a gawky child anymore, all knees and elbows and awkward features. He’s _beautiful_.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan says, and his delight is easy to read, easy to _feel_ even as his gaze flickers to Qui-Gon. “Sorry, Master Qui-Gon. Master Tholme's being tracked. I'm supposed to take you back to our camp.”

“ _Tracked_?” Obi-Wan says, which is better than ten of the other things that want to come out of his mouth. He’s twenty. He’s not supposed to be able to deal well with beautiful people. Especially when they're childhood friends who have no right growing up so attractive.

“Yeah, it’s fine, we’re handling it.” Quinlan flashes him a shadow of a smile, then reaches out. His hand slides into Obi-Wan’s like it’s always been there, and he tugs. “Come on, we need to run.”

“As always,” Qui-Gon says, amused, and takes the lead, long strides carrying him quickly through the tall grass.

Quinlan doesn’t immediately follow, though. He casts Obi-Wan a sideways glance, and there's grass in his hair, a new clan marking that curls close to his hairline. “Been a while, Obi-Wan,” he says, and grins, a quick flash of teeth that makes Obi-Wan’s stomach flip. “You got hot.”

Obi-Wan laughs a little, breathless with awareness of Quinlan's hand in his. “And you got ridiculous,” he retorts, and pulls Quinlan with him as he picks up a run.

Quinlan doesn’t protest, just laughs, and Obi-Wan tries his best to pretend the sound doesn’t echo in his bones.


End file.
